I’ve found writing to be a mere escape to the routine of everyday life, and an outlet for reliving our greatest adventures. Powder days and beautiful sunrises come and go, but there is something about language that leaves an emotional impact on the reader. Nature is overwhelming, cotton candy sunsets melt into my eyes and I cannot help but sit back and view these miraculous views Mother Nature dishes out to me.
Our stories on adventures are mini novels where readers can get lost on a rainy day and emerge themselves in the fear of a storm or the glory of a summit. I love losing my voice while belting out my soul to Johnny Cash on a thousand mile drive. I love the sheer exhaustion of a day so full of play. I love last minute decisions, changing my mind, and ending up in new places. I love stumbling into friends, old and new. I love the passion of someone showing me around his or her town. I love… love.
Because love is what you see in someone’s eyes when they ski fresh snow. Love is what you feel when you hear someone talk about their passions. Love is that feeling you get when you gaze at your favorite mountain and know that you’ll never be able to leave it behind. Love is adventure, and adventure is love.
It’s cliché to say. It is complicated to try to boil adventure down to feeling. I am attempting to write with no real direction, however it works perfectly because I adventure with no real direction as well. Decisions are best made at the last moment, and forks in the road are best taken.
This is mostly just a mere poetic attempt at why we fall in love with adventure. Why we fake sick, ditch plans, and sometimes lose friends due to the chase. The search for that feeling of overwhelming joy that being surround by good company and scenic views gives us.